Crazy Train
by Delylah
Summary: What if Miles was the one that went off the rails, and Ben sent Charlie to find Bass in Chicago instead? (will eventually be a Charlie/Bass story)
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** recently I read that Billy Burke was originally slated to play Bass Monroe instead of Miles Matheson. And I kinda wondered what that would look like. And then that kind of gave me this idea. So I had to start writing it. I am NOT rewriting all of Seasons 1 and 2 of Revolution, but I thought I would take a stab at rewriting some of the Miles and Charlie scenes and swap Bass in for Miles. We'll see what happens. This particular scene is simply Ben's death scene. The dialogue is verbatim, I just changed the relevant names. No, Bass will NOT be Charlie's uncle in this story. He's still Bass, Miles is still Miles, it's just that a few things happened differently in this AU. Chapter 1 is already in progress. So is Chapter 9 of the Rescuers. This story will stay rated T for now, but I may have to up the rating in the future.

**Disclaimer: ** These characters are Not Mine. I just like to play with them.

_Crazy, but that's how it goes  
Millions of people living as foes  
Maybe it's not too late  
To learn how to love, and forget how to hate._

_-Crazy Train, _Ozzy Osbourne, Randy Rhoads, Robert John Daisley

* * *

Charlie looked up from her treasure trove when she heard the unmistakable blast of a rifle echoing through the trees, followed by the cries of birds as they took flight. Citizens of the Matheson Republic weren't allowed to own firearms, and any citizen who did (and she knew of several) wasn't likely to fire one within earshot of civilization unless they had a damn good reason. As hers was the only village for miles around, the gunshot meant trouble. She hoped it was nothing more than a wild dog that had wandered too close to the village.

She jogged back to her hiding place and slid the lunch box back into its spot. As she did, another blast echoed through the trees. Moments later, four more blasts followed in quick succession. Panicking now, Charlie bolted into a dead run back toward the village, heedless of fallen branches and other debris in her way. When she finally reached the gate, she stopped in her tracks, unable to make sense of the scene that lay before her. The faint tang of black powder was in the air; people were crying, and there were bodies lying in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Maggie was kneeling next to one, and with a twisting wrench of her gut, Charlie realized it was her father.

"Dad!" she called, her voice husky from the exertion of running at top speed. She dashed over to his side and clutched at his shoulder, horrified to see that Maggie's hands were pressed against his chest in a futile attempt to stanch the flow of blood. "Dad! What happened? Wh-what happened?" she asked tearily.

Maggie glanced at her briefly before her eyes flicked back down to her husband. There was a terrible truth in her eyes that Charlie did not want to consider. One of their neighbors, Priscilla, stood a few steps away from Ben's feet, covering her mouth with her hand as if to stifle a scream. Ben looked up at his daughter with unshed tears glistening in his eyes and blood on his face.

"Danny's gone," he rasped painfully.

"Danny's gone?" Charlie repeated, confused. What did he mean? Danny couldn't be dead. He simply couldn't. They had been exploring together just that morning, and the asthma attack had passed and he was _fine._

"Militia," Maggie said softly. "Militia took him."

Charlie didn't understand. Why had the militia taken her brother? They'd had enough volunteers this season; it had been a lean year, and the militia paid their recruits well with extra rations for their families. Why was her father lying on the ground, bleeding?

"Okay…okay, wh-what do we do, what do you want me to do?" she stammered as she caressed her father's cheek, his stubble rough under her palm, sticky with blood. She refused to look at Maggie again, refused to see what the older woman was trying to tell her.

"Listen. You need to find Bass in Chicago, at The Grand on Walton Place. Bass is there. He can get Danny back. You need to find Bass," Ben said slowly, emphasizing the name each time he said it. Charlie shook her head. The name was familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"Dad, no, no. We'll catch the soldiers! We can go right now, we'll take him back!"

"No, no. They'll kill you," Ben said seriously, his blue eyes, so like her own, delving into hers. He wanted to make sure there was no mistake, Charlie was not to pursue those soldiers on her own, no matter what.

"But you're gonna come with me," she pleaded in a small, choking voice. "Okay? You're gonna come with me." Tears welled up in her eyes and began to spill over, trailing down her cheeks. She cradled Ben's head in her hand and willed him to agree with her.

"I can't," he whispered, shaking his head. His eyes held the same terrible truth as Maggie's, but still Charlie refused to acknowledge it.

"Yes, you can," she insisted, tears falling freely now. "Please, please," she whispered pleadingly, shutting her eyes tight to avoid seeing the shadow in his.

"Listen to me, Charlie," he whispered, trembling now from the strain of simply speaking. "You're strong. You're so strong, you're like your mom. You can do this. You _have_ to do this." He gave her a faint smile, pride shining in his eyes.

Charlie nodded fiercely, her lips compressed to keep from crying out. Slowly, the spark of life in her father's eyes faded away, and she lowered his head gently to the ground. Beside her, Maggie sobbed.

Ben Matheson was dead.


	2. All Aboard

**Author's Note:** Finally, chapter 1. This chapter encompasses most of Season 1 Episode 1 with a few changes. I've swapped Aaron out for Priscilla. I have my reasons. The major change is of course that in this AU, Miles is the one who has gone off the rails, and it's Bass Charlie must locate in Chicago. I'm also working off of Elizabeth Mitchell's presumption that Miles, Ben, Rachel and Bass were all the "very best of friends" before the blackout. There are a couple of flashbacks here, presented in italics, one small, one brief, one lengthy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. I don't even own most of the plot or a lot of the dialogue. They belong to NBC, Kripke, JJ Abrams, and whoever else has a claim on them.

* * *

Charlie was already tired of walking by the time they reached Chicago. She was tired of Priscilla's optimism and constant questions, and she was tired of Maggie's advice and wisdom. However, she was grateful for their company, so she tried not to let her irritation show. She didn't know yet what to think of Nate, but at least he was quiet. When Priscilla asked her who Bass was, all she knew to tell him was that he was a friend of her father's from before the blackout, and that he was supposed to be good at killing. She hadn't seen him since she was a little girl, before the power went out.

Compared to her tiny village, the city was large, crowded and dirty. She had never been around this many people at once, and it made her nervous. She couldn't imagine how noisy and overwhelming it must have been to live there before the blackout - like bees stacked on top of each other in a hive. Her picture postcard of downtown Chicago didn't do the enormity of the skyscrapers justice. They loomed above her like stone giants, silent monuments to a dead but not-so-distant-past, slowly being reclaimed by nature, as all corpses were. She wondered which one was home for the first five years of her life, and if any of their belongings would still be there if she went looking. She still had vague memories of teevee and ice cream and the toys her parents made her leave behind...and holding Danny's hand. She pushed on, shoving the memories aside. Finding Danny was more important than anything else.

Finally, they reached the Grand on Walton Place, where they walked into the bar amid catcalls and whistles. Nate's fists clenched; Maggie shook her head and sighed. Priscilla was oblivious, lost in her own memories of the past. Charlie simply ignored the riffraff, like gnats she couldn't be bothered swatting at. Her attention was instead drawn to the man behind the bar who had tousled curls and at least a week's worth of scruffy beard. He glanced up and paused long enough in his task of wiping down the counter to give her a good once over. He started at her face, surprisingly enough, then his gaze roved appreciatively downward, pausing at her breasts and again at the expanse of tanned skin bared at her midriff, and finally sliding past her hips and thighs to her calves. Then his gaze suddenly darted back up to her face and arrested at her eyes, his expression shocked.

He immediately turned his back and busied himself funneling amber liquid into a bottle. Charlie gave Maggie a sidelong glance, wondering if she'd noticed, but Maggie was instead taking in their surroundings, her nose slightly wrinkled. Charlie walked up to the bar to speak to him, but she wasn't used to dealing with strangers, so she didn't have a clue how to get his attention. Fortunately, Maggie stepped in.

"Excuse me," she began politely in her crisp, cultured voice. The bartender turned, eyeing Maggie with a questioning look as he continued to pour. "Maybe you can help me," she said.

"Maybe, maybe not," the bartender said as he walked closer, still pouring, but managing not to spill a drop.

"Were looking for someone," Maggie continued.

"You know, with that posh accent, lady, I'm afraid you're going to scare away my regulars," he said with a cocky grin.

For a moment, Charlie was thrown back in time.

_A car. Music blaring. She was having the time of her life. There was a dark-haired man in the driver's seat, scowling good-naturedly at her and the passenger next to her, a man with blonde curls and blue eyes, who was grinning at her as they both sang at the top of their lungs. She looked over at the blonde-haired man and giggled as he continued to sing. Charlie didn't know all the words, but she chimed in anyway chanting the only words she did know._

"_Been a long time, been a long time, been a long time!"_

"That wouldn't be much of a loss," Maggie retorted, looking around distastefully. The man that Charlie now recognized to be Bass gave her a withering look. "His name is Bass Monroe," Maggie continued undaunted.

The smaller bottle now empty, Bass finally put the both bottles down on the counter. He shook his head and gave Maggie a small shrug. "Never heard of him."

"Are you sure? We were told he'd be here," Maggie protested. Bass just shook his head again and began polishing glasses with a worn bar mop.

Charlie fished around in her jacket pocket for an aging, dog-eared post card depicting the New York skyline and slid it across the bar. Bass glanced at it, looked away, then did a double take. He stretched out a cautious hand to the card and flipped it over. There was faded handwriting on the back, with a large scrawled signature at the bottom.

_For my favorite explorer. One day we'll explore the Big Apple together._

_Miss you, see you at Christmas!_

_Love,_

_The Bass Man_

"You kept this all these years?" Bass said quietly, smoothing his thumb across the bent corner of the card with care.

Charlie nodded. It was one of the few items she'd been able to carry away from their apartment; she had snuck it into her pink Dora backpack when her mother wasn't looking.

"All right. Just you, come with me," he said to Charlie with obvious resignation as he wiggled a finger at her and began walking.

"No way, buddy," Nate said with a smirk as he drew a large hunting knife. Bass stopped in his tracks and looked at the boy in amused disbelief, but he didn't take the hint. "You're not taking her," Nate paused and indicated Charlie with the tip of the knife, "anywhere," he finished, pointing the knife at Bass.

Bass gave a small laugh. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed Nate's wrist, yanked the knife away from him and held the blade at his throat. Nate swallowed visibly, clearly out of his league.

"I've known her since she was three," Bass said casually, belying the dangerous look in his eye. "I don't know you."

For a moment, Charlie thought he might actually slice Nate's throat open there in the middle of the bar. Instead, he flipped the knife in a complicated series of twists and embedded the point into the countertop.

"Come on," he said softly to Charlie. "Not in here."

She followed him without question, hoping to finally get some answers.

* * *

**Part 2**

Bass picked up the bottle he had filled and a couple of clean glasses. Then he lead Charlie to a large sitting area filled with shabby furniture, dusty old paintings, and display cases containing memorabilia. It must have been beautiful once. Now, like most other buildings, the glass was broken out of the windows, which were boarded up. The oriental rugs showed signs of water damage, the chandeliers were badly tarnished, and a large marble column had fallen onto the grand staircase and shattered into large pieces. Bass set the bottle and glass down on a waist-high cabinet and turned to her.

"What are you doing here, Charlotte?" he asked.

No one called her Charlotte. Ever. She didn't even know if anyone else knew that was her full name, other than her father and Danny. She thought it was a little strange that he would.

"My father is dead," she said bluntly. Bass flinched, as if she'd struck him, but she didn't know how to put a pretty face on it. Her father _was_ dead, and no trite euphemisms would soften the blow or make it less true.

"Ben's dead?" he said after a moment. "How? What happened?"

Charlie took a deep breath to steady herself. Talking about it was painful, and she'd be damned if she'd cry in front of this man who was all but a stranger, no matter what he'd meant to her family years ago.

"I wasn't there, but militia killed him. And they took my brother, Danny, with them," she said, struggling to get the words past the lump in her throat.

Bass poured himself a drink and downed it in one swallow, slamming the glass down on the cabinet and refilling it immediately. He stared soberly into the glass as if he hoped the contents could help him make sense of the news. Then he poured a splash into the second glass and offered it to her.

"Here. I'd offer you a glass of water, but if I go back out there without you, your boyfriend is likely to wave that knife at me again, and then I'll have to hurt him," he said with a smirk.

Charlie accepted the glass and sniffed the contents. She drew back and made a face. Her father hadn't been a drinker, and Maggie had always kept a close eye on any spirits she kept for medicinal purposes, so Charlie had never tasted alcohol. Bass smiled faintly.

"Just think of it as medicine and chug it. It will help a little."

Charlie did as he asked and swallowed the shot in one gulp. It felt like liquid fire burning its way through her esophagus into her stomach, where it finally settled into a pleasant warmth. Bass picked up his own glass and walked over to an armchair, where he sat with a heavy sigh.

"Ben was always good to me," he mused. "The three of us, your dad, your uncle, and I were like the musketeers growing up." He paused to take a sip from his glass before continuing. "I'm sorry for your loss, Charlotte. But that still doesn't explain why you're here."

"The last thing my dad said was that I needed to find you, that you would help me get Danny back," she said in a hopeful voice.

Bass laughed bitterly.

"Damn him," he muttered. "I told him he should keep moving, that he shouldn't settle anywhere for very long. He should have listened."

"I don't understand," Charlie said, bewildered. "Why did the militia want my dad? And why were they asking him about you?"

"The militia wanted your father because Miles believes he knew something important." He paused again, this time finishing the drink. "I guess somewhere along the line he got the crazy idea that Ben might have told me, too."

"What?" Charlie asked impatiently.

"Why the lights went out," Bass said. "Maybe how to turn them back on. If Miles got the power going, that would mean tanks, and planes, factories...he'd steamroll the entire continent. And he'd butcher the other republics."

Charlie stood quietly for a moment, absorbing the information. It was interesting, but it didn't explain why the militia took Danny with them, and it didn't change her purpose in seeking out the man in front of her.

"Okay. So what do we do now?" she asked, her voice brimming with expectation.

Bass could feel himself softening toward her, but he knew he couldn't afford to do that. No good would come from this situation. He had to make her understand, even if it meant breaking her heart. Ben was dead. Danny likely soon would be. He refused to let Miles destroy Charlotte, too.

"What do we do now about what?" he asked coldly, watching as she fidgeted nervously.

"How do we get Danny back?" she said in confusion, obviously wondering why she had to spell it out for him.

Bass steeled himself, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair to attempt a casual pose.

"I didn't say I was going with you," he said slowly and clearly.

Charlotte stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, shocked.

"What?" she said finally when she found her voice again.

Bass shifted uncomfortably. She was going to make this difficult for him. So be it. He had no problem being cruel to be kind, even to Charlotte.

"In case you haven't noticed," he began, rising to his feet, "I'm trying to maintain a certain low profile here." He opened his arms wide, shrugging as if to say, _what the hell do you want me to do, kid? _ He turned away from her, unable to face the crushing disappointment on her face. Instead, he returned to the bottle of spirits and poured himself another glass.

"No, look...look, I'm _begging_ you," Charlie began with a frantic shake of her head, pleading with him to listen, but he interrupted her.

"Your brother is bait," he snapped icily as he turned to face her again, refusing to let the devastation on her face sway him as he continued cruelly. "Going after it wouldn't be good for him, or for you, or for me. I, for one, would rather keep my insides on the inside." He took a deep swallow of his drink, praying she would see reason and give up this crusade quickly.

"No. No, look!" she said in a choked voice. "I have…." she broke off, blinking back tears as she pressed her lips together in a firm line, considering carefully what she could say to change his mind. "I have lost _everyone_ that I care about. My mom is dead. My dad...is dead," she said, pausing again to take a breath before continuing, "and God knows what they're doing to Danny right now, so you are gonna help me get him back," she finished defiantly.

Bass gripped the edge of the cabinet top so hard his knuckles turned white.

"And why would I do that?" he asked coolly, arranging his expression into a calm facade.

Charlie struggled not to cry as she explained in a wavering voice, "Because you were their best friend. You're practically family."

_Fuck, _Bass thought. He hated hurting her, but he had to do it, for her own good, He'd promised long ago to help keep her safe, no matter the cost.

"Family?" he said, affecting a tone of amused disbelief. "Kid, I don't even know you."

Charlie's face crumpled, the tears she'd struggled to hold back finally spilling over her cheeks as she backed away a step before bending to retrieve her pack from where it rested against the base of a column.

"Yeah, you're right," she said bitterly, walking toward the entrance to the bar. "It was stupid of me to ask. Sorry to bother you," she tossed back in a low, broken voice as she slung the pack over her shoulder.

Bass turned to watch her go, regret written in every line on his face. He began to follow slowly, calculating measures he would need to take to keep an eye on her as he did so. He'd had enough contact with Ben over the years to know that stubbornness was one of the Matheson traits that bred true. He didn't doubt for a moment that she wasn't convinced to give up this fool's crusade. He paused at the entryway and watched as she returned to her companions.

Maggie noticed immediately that something was amiss, evidenced by Charlie's rapid steps and tear-stained face.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a low voice, glancing back at Bass with anger.

Charlie furiously wiped the tears away and ignored the question.

"Let's get out of here," she said quietly. But Maggie wouldn't be deterred.

"Charlie what's wrong?" she asked again, determinedly.

"Nothing; let's go," Charlie repeated, trying to usher the older woman along with a hand on her elbow, tugging her toward the front door. "Just get your stuff."

"Tell me," Maggie insisted as Charlie continued encouraging her to leave. But Nate had noticed the exchange and walked over to investigate.

"Hey, hey. hey, what happened?" he asked Charlie softly.

Frustrated now, Charlie pleaded with him in a teary voice, "Nothing, let's just go. Let's just go!"

Observing her distress, Nate set his jaw firmly and pushed past her, stalking angrily toward toward Bass, who had been approaching the group cautiously.

"Hey," he began with a cruel smirk, "hold on." He held out his hand as if to push the other man away from Charlie. Bass stopped and eyed him with obvious distaste.

"Step back," he warned coldly. Nate ignored him.

"So what'd you say to her, huh?" he asked menacingly.

Bass glanced down at the arm the young man had stretched out a moment ago. Before Nate could react, Bass snatched his wrist and held it so that his palm was facing back toward Charlie, revealing a branding scar, an M encircled with an arc.

"Militia, huh?" Bass asked, unsurprised. "When did you enlist?"

Charlie looked on in disbelief, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

Nate drew his knife with a metallic _snick_, pressing it against Bass's jugular with his left hand while Bass still grasped his right wrist. They faced off silently for a moment, each taking the other's measure, until Nate smacked his forehead against Bass's own. Bass grunted in pain and released his hold on Nate, his hand flying up to his nose instead. Nate quickly backed away several steps, his bow at the ready and arrow nocked before Charlie could even blink. He continued backing warily toward the door, his eyes never leaving Bass, who strode forward in front of Charlie, shoving her behind him protectively. They watched together as Nate kicked open the door and disappeared into the blinding sunlight.

* * *

**Part 3**

"Bass, this is my fault. I-I'm so sorry," Charlie said in a small voice.

She was leaning against the arm of the same sofa Priscilla was sitting on, watching as he paced back and forth in front of an antique cabinet. Her face still held the same look of hurt and confusion she had worn when she realized Nate had played her for a fool. Bass wanted to reassure her and rail at her at the same time. Four years he'd managed to hide in plain sight, if only because Chicago was the last place Miles would think to look. Four years down the drain and Charlie had been here less than four hours.

"He's probably from the same unit that took your brother. He followed you, hoping you'd flush me out, which, of course, you did," he noted with a sardonic laugh as he stopped pacing to face her, hooking his thumbs into his pockets. Charlie's eyes flitted away from his guiltily, and he immediately felt contrite.

"What are you going to do?" Priscilla asked quietly.

Bass turned around and opened the cabinet behind him, pulling out a bottle and glass he'd been saving for a special occasion. _What better occasion than my imminent death? _he thought.

But to Priscilla and the others he said, "This, as far as I know," he qualified, brandishing the bottle, "is the last bottle of single malt in Chicago." He punctuated his statement by slapping the glass down on the cabinet top.

"My plan is to sit here and drink it." He busied himself filling the glass with a generous helping, not caring that he sloshed some of the alcohol onto the cabinet top. He probably didn't have time to finish the entire bottle, anyway.

"You can't just stay here," Charlie protested. "It's not safe."

"No kidding," he said with a false smile. "Why are you still here? That boyfriend of yours is on his way to the nearest squad as we speak. You have two, eh, maybe three hours before they get here. You should leave while you can," he said in a flat tone.

"No, this is crazy," Charlie said huskily as she stood and faced him, shaking her head in denial. "Just come with us. Or don't, that's fine, but go _somewhere._ You can't just sit here and die," she finished, her voice trailing off on the last word.

Bass shook his head.

"I'm not leaving, but you are. Go now, while you still have time to lose them." He turned his back on her, unable to watch the emotions play across her face. She was too damn stubborn for her own good, and now they were both going to pay.

"Bass come on, please," she pleaded.

"Charlotte, I said go," he said coldly. When she made no move to leave, he swore to himself, but he'd be damned if he let that cocky kid and his buddies kill her alongside him, or worse, turn her over to Miles. He rounded on her, summoning every ounce of anger he could. "GET OUT!" he shouted. "LEAVE, NOW!"

Maggie and Priscilla gathered their things as quickly as they could. Charlotte just stood watching him until he turned and grabbed his glass and downed half of it before slamming it back onto the counter top. Finally he heard faint shuffling noises from behind, as well as a sniffle or two. She walked slowly toward the entrance, and he realized he just couldn't let her leave thinking any of this was her fault.

"Wait, Charlotte," he called after her.

She stopped, but she didn't turn to look at him. He was glad; that made it easier to say what he needed.

"Don't feel bad. He would have found me eventually. At least this way it's finally over. Run. And don't look back."

She hesitated a moment after he finished, but to his relief, she didn't turn around. Without a word she disappeared through the entrance. Moments later, the front door opened and closed.

He downed the rest of his drink, but he didn't bother to pour himself another. Instead, he took the bottle and fell into his favorite armchair, indulging in some good old-fashioned self-pity and memories of years long past.

* * *

_Miles kept the gun, but he let Bass keep the bottle. There wasn't much left anyway, and after Miles had helped him climb into the passenger's seat, he wasn't really interested. The world had taken on a blurry glow that was easier on the eyes than the sharp lines and bright colors of sobriety; everything slid completely out of focus once the Challenger was cruising. He let himself drift, still aware of the aching, empty hole in his heart, but the pierce had been dulled by the whiskey. Soon he fell into blissful unconsciousness._

"_Bass." _

Nudge, nudge.

"_Bass, dammit, wake up, we're here!"_

Punch!

"_Ow, Miles, not so loud," Bass moaned, rubbing his temple. _

"_Come on, we're here."_

_Bass opened his eyes and looked around blearily. It was still dark, but it was obvious they were no longer in Jasper. He had no idea how long they'd been driving._

"_What time is it? Where are we?" he asked. _

"_It's 4 am, and we're at Ben's, in Chicago," was Miles's terse reply._

"_What? Miles, no. Why?" he asked. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart in front of anyone else. It was bad enough that Miles had seen him at his lowest._

"_You need to be around family. Where the hell else would we go?" Miles asked, giving him his trademark "don't be an idiot" look._

_Miles climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He bodily dragged Bass out, still complaining. After a short ride in the elevator, Miles was knocking quietly on the door. Bass heard locks flipping and a chain sliding, then Rachel opened the door. Without a word she gathered him into her arms. Suddenly the lump in his throat was back. _

"_I"m so sorry," she murmured._

_He couldn't say anything; instead he wrapped his arms around her and realized it had been a long time since anyone had hugged him in a way that had nothing to do with sex. When she let him go, there were tears in her own eyes that she swiped away with the back of her hand._

"_Should I make some coffee?" she asked quietly._

"_Nah," Miles said. "Sleep would be better. Thanks for putting us up, Rach."_

"_Of course."_

_Both the sofas in the living room had been made up with sheets, blankets and pillows. Miles settled himself on one, his long legs stretching past the arm. He flung his arm over his eyes, and Bass knew it wouldn't be long before he began snoring._

_Rachel led him to the other sofa, where he collapsed gratefully. He even allowed her to tuck him in like he was a little boy. She ran her fingers through his hair once. It reminded him of his mother. He clutched her fingers to stop her. _

"_Thanks, Rachel," he rasped. _

_She smiled and nodded, teary-eyed again._

"_Get some sleep," she managed at last and retreated to the hallway, where for the first time Bass noticed Ben hovering in the background, eyes reddened. Ben and Miles had spent just as much time at his house growing up as he had spent at theirs, and likely felt the loss almost as keenly as he did. He was wrong when he'd told Miles he had nothing. Half of his family was here in this very house. Jasper, Indiana was no longer home for him. With the death of his parents and his sisters, there was nothing for him back there. Home was Miles, and Ben and even Rachel. With that thought, he drifted away once more._

_When Bass opened his eyes again, it was daytime; the light filtering through the sheer curtains was only bright enough to hurt his eyes. For a moment, he was disoriented. Then he remembered._

_His parents and sisters were dead. Miles had brought him to Ben and Rachel in Chicago, because he had been a hair's breadth from eating his own gun. _

_He glanced over at the other couch. Miles was still dead to the world, snoring so loudly they could probably hear it on the street below. That was probably what had awakened him. It must not be too late yet, because the house was still quiet._

"_Psst," whispered a tiny voice._

_He turned his head and found himself staring into the clearest, brightest pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen. They belonged to an imp with light brown hair and an angelic smile, and he couldn't help but smile back just a tiny bit. _

"_Hi, I'm Charlotte. Who are you?" she asked, still whispering._

"_Hello, Charlotte. I'm Sebastian. It's nice to finally meet you," he whispered back._

"_You're the Bass Man?" she repeated, her adorable nose wrinkled in consternation. "That's a funny name." _

_At that, Bass grinned helplessly. _

"_Yeah, kid. I'm the Bass Man," he said, trying very hard not to laugh. "But you can call me Bass if you want."_

"_You can call me Charlotte," she said imperiously, folding her arms across her chest and nodding for emphasis. Then she cocked her head to one side and asked, "Why are you sad?"_

_Bass just gaped at her, dumbfounded._

"_Mommy said you were sad and I shouldn't bother you," she explained. _

"_Oh," he said, nodding in understanding. "Well, you're not bothering me at all, sweetheart."_

"_Why are you sad? Did you fall down and hurt yourself?" she asked, examining his elbow as if she were looking for a scrape mark._

"_No. My heart hurts." And it did, as he recalled his sisters at her age. He'd been too young to appreciate them then. _

"_Want a kiss to make it better?" she asked, whispering again. "That always helps me. Sometimes Mommy forgets, when Danny is sick."_

_He gave her a solemn nod. "I would like one very much."_

_She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. _

"_There, all better. Can you make pancakes?" she asked brightly._

_He could indeed, and as she led him into the kitchen, chattering away, he realized a three-year-old had just wrapped him around her tiny finger with nothing more than a kiss._

* * *

Bass shook himself out of his melancholy. Charlie was right, this was crazy. He couldn't just sit here and die. He walked back to the bar out front and retrieved his swords, then he set up a few surprises. When the kid returned with his backup, he was waiting for them on the staircase, swords drawn and held loosely at his sides.

The kid smiled when he saw him.

"Come on down. We don't want to hurt you. Matheson wants you alive," he said.

"He just wants the pleasure of killing me himself," Bass said. "I'm not going back. Tell him you couldn't find me, and I'll just disappear. I was getting bored here, anyway."

"You know we can't do that," the kid said, smirking.

"I thought you'd say that," he said, and shrugged. "Your funeral."

Half a dozen of them rushed him. It had been years since he'd been on the battlefield, but everything came back in a haze of fury. He let the battle fever take over, swinging his swords to block, parry, and slash his opponents in a series of moves he no longer had to consciously think about. He dispatched the soldiers one by one without missing a beat until he made the mistake of rolling into a group of them at the foot of the staircase, where they surrounded him.

Suddenly, an arrow pierced one of them from behind. The hapless soldier twisted in agony and crumpled to the floor, revealing Charlie with her crossbow, her jaw set in determination. Bass's momentary relief was short-lived; two of the soldiers loped after Charlie as she dashed back to the front of the hotel. Unfortunately, he still had four left to deal with, plus their leader. He prayed Maggie and Priscilla were on their toes as he turned to deal with the last of his opponents. Moments later he heard scuffling sounds in the front room, freeing him to focus on the soldiers without worrying about the girl. In short order they were dead, like their companions. Their leader wasn't much of a swordsman; his movements were wild and unfocused. Even so, he managed to disarm Bass. Undaunted, Bass ducked a couple of swings until he finally grabbed the man's neck and his sword arm. In one smooth motion he twisted around, pulled the sword out of the man's grasp with both hands and then shoved it backward, running him through. He watched numbly as the man fell forward and bled all over one of the oriental rugs.

Breathing heavily, Bass followed in the direction Charlie had taken and found one more dead soldier. The women were on the front steps of the hotel, where another body lay. The kid was nowhere to be found; Charlie told him later he had fought off her attacker and then run off when Maggie and Priscilla showed up.

Charlie appeared shaken, but she was unhurt, save for a few scrapes and bruises, as were Maggie and Priscilla. He ushered them back into the hotel without a word. Together the four of them piled the bodies in one of the conference rooms and closed the door. Afterward, Maggie insisted he sit down and allow her to suture one of the nastier slashes he'd received.

"You know, I didn't ask you to come back," he said, gritting his teeth with a grunt of pain when Maggie jabbed him particularly hard with the needle.

"Don't look at me," she said crisply. "I wanted to let you rot."

"You probably should have. Anyone finds out you three had anything to do with the deaths of militia soldiers, your lives won't be worth spit," he said.

"My dad thought of you as family. I don't leave family behind," Charlie said solemnly.

"Kid, if I'm coming with you, you're going to have to dial it back a notch," Bass replied in a wry voice.

"You're coming?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in confusion. He sighed, knowing he was going to regret this decision sooner or later, but she'd probably saved his ass. And she was family. He was damned if give her the satisfaction of telling her, though.

"Loverboy will just send more troops," he explained instead. "I can't stay here."

The smile she gave him was full of hope, like the sun peeking through the clouds after forty days of rain.

"Thank you," she said solemnly.

"You're welcome," he replied, his tone just as solemn. "We'll probably all wind up swinging from a gallows, but you're welcome."

The smile was fainter this time, but no less effective. Bass grabbed his bottle of scotch, thinking he might as well polish it off before they left. Besides, Maggie had several more gashes to sew up and seemed to be taking great delight in stabbing him with the needle. When she was finished, Charlie wanted to leave right away.

"Sleep first," he said. "We'll leave first thing in the morning."

Charlie made herself comfortable on one of the sofas. Before she drifted off, he handed her the postcard she'd shown him earlier, the one he'd sent her when she was five, not a month before the blackout happened.

"Thanks," she said softly, flipping the card over to read his handwriting. "I never did get to visit the Big Apple," she mused sadly.

"These days, you aren't missing much. Get some sleep, Charlotte."

"Goodnight, Bass."

Normally he slept in one of the rooms upstairs, but he didn't want to leave the women unguarded. He went to his room and packed up the things he thought he might need on this ill-conceived adventure. then stopped to take stock. He'd spent almost four years in this place, and he still didn't own much more than he could pack in one bag. _Depressing, _he thought.

When he returned downstairs, Charlotte had fallen asleep clutching something to her chest. Assuming it was the postcard, he reached to slide it out from under her hands to prevent her from accidentally crushing it. When he glanced at it, he got a shock. She wasn't holding the postcard at all. Instead, it was a picture of Ben and Rachel.

"You bastard," he muttered to his friend's smiling face. "You never should have sent her here."

Bass tucked the photo back under Charlie's hands and proceeded to drink himself to sleep.

* * *

Reviews are love. Constructive criticism is deeply appreciated.


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